


Caning and Rescue

by shnuffeluv



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo Card [3]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Caning, Dissociation, Gen, Minor Character Death, No Smut, Rescue, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 17:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16123088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/shnuffeluv
Summary: McGee gets in over his head when he goes undercover, and the baddies figure out he's not who he says he is.





	Caning and Rescue

Somewhere through the dim haze of pain, Tim acknowledged that he probably deserved this. He couldn't remember what it was he had done to be caned, but it had to be severe. Whenever he got punished for something as a kid, he had never been hurt this bad. Now, as an undercover agent, someone had to be beyond angry to do this to get back at him. As another whack came down, this time right under his ribs, sinking into soft flesh, he felt the air rush out of him quickly, and he couldn't bring it back in.

Panic started to settle in. The pain was bad enough, but bodies needed air. Even if he wasn't entirely sure he was still attached to a physical body, it seemed important to be able to breathe.

The cane came down on his hand and there was a howl of pain that sounded foreign to Tim's ears. Was that his voice? He could hardly register that his hand was hurting, it was just a minor sting from what he could feel. Not that he could feel very much--his entire body was throbbing.

Salt fell into gashes he had across his face, and he whimpered. He knew, logically, that salt came from his own tears, but logic had been thrown out the window long ago. This was a game of survival. He needed Gibbs, where was Gibbs? Gibbs had said he would be right there, watching him and monitoring his wire. Where was he?

Another flash of pain came down, right above his knee and Tim cried. He had been chained up, dangled from the ceiling by his wrists. Not that being chained like that prevented his attacker from hitting any and every part of the body he could reach. In fact, Tim was pretty sure the only thing that his attacker hadn't gotten at this point were his wrists.

And there was the hit to the ribs that had Tim gasping for breath again. He didn't know how long he had been hanging here. It could have been hours, or it could have been days. It was something that Tim didn't want to dwell on. Every second longer it took for him to be found meant he was one second closer to his death via caning. Which he didn't think was actually possible before this had started. If he had thought that his dad using his belts were bad, well! Tim was thanking his lucky stars that his dad hadn't owned a cane!

A sharp bang reverberated through the room and Tim's face and exposed chest were covered with blood. The cane clattered to the floor. His attacker was dead. Tim stared, uncomprehending, at the heaping mammoth who had been alive just seconds before, now flat on his face on the ground, with a hole in the back of his head. A loud voice that sounded familiar but also extremely foreign yelled, "Gibbs, I found him!"

Tim blinked and Nick was in front of him, working on the chains keeping Tim standing. His toes just brushing the floor, he knew the second Nick undid the chains he was going to--Pain traveled up his legs and he was listing to the side, about to collapse from a sitting position to lying prone on the floor. Nick caught him just before he fell any further. The second Nick undid the chains he was going to fall, seeing as how he couldn't stand on his own.

"Tim, are you okay?" Nick asked.

It took too much effort for Tim to make out that sentence, and even more effort to figure out what it meant. Gently, slowly, he shook his head. He couldn't breathe without feeling like his insides were going to explode, he almost felt like he was drowning, he was pretty sure his ribs were broken. What part of that was okay?

A chill went up Tim's spine in between the throbbing heat that covered his entire body. He supposed that made sense, though. He was sitting naked on a concrete floor in a basement. And it was November the last time he was able to look at a calendar. It was supposed to be cold.

His eyes traveled to the man who had been attacking him, the hole in the back of his skull and the blood pooling beneath his head, the same blood Tim felt on his own face. His chest grew tight. He touched his face and the blood still felt warm. He was sure that the body would be too. He rubbed at his cheeks. He had to get it off, get it off,  _get it off now._

"Hey, Tim, stop, you're going to hurt yourself more," Nick said, holding Tim's hands still.

"No," Tim whimpered. "The blood, the blood, I can't...the blood..."

There were harsh footsteps, too loud, and Tim stopped scrubbing at his face in favor of covering his ears and curling up as small as he could. If he was lucky, he'd only get hit on the back, and maybe he could walk in a couple weeks. A warm, calloused hand brushed against his forehead and he looked up in shock, finding Gibbs crouching in front of him. "It's okay, Tim. You're safe now," Gibbs murmured.

Tim could feel fresh tears well up in his eyes. He really wasn't sure he knew what safe meant anymore.

"Torres, do you know where they put Tim's clothes?" Gibbs asked.

"No clue," Nick said.

"He's shaking, we need to wrap him in something, get him warm."

"Get him out of shock, too," Nick pointed out. "He looks just about catatonic."

Gibbs nodded, picking Tim up and carrying him away from the body and the cane still lying on the floor. "You're all black and blue, kid, how long had he been doing that to you?"

"H-how..." Tim tried to swallow, and his voice cracked as he asked, "How long...was...I...gone?"

"Almost two days," Gibbs said softly. "They took off your wire the second they found it and they removed anything on your person that could be used to track you. I'm sorry we couldn't get here sooner."

"Was hit...for two...days..." Tim breathed, or tried to. His ribs were on fire. "Can't...breathe..."

"Easy, Tim, there's an ambulance on the way, they can check you over at the hospital, make sure nothing's broken."

Tim laughed. "Everything's...broken...Boss. Chest...arms...legs...all hurt. Ribs...made...crack...sounds..."

Gibbs looked at him in concern, taking him over to a couch and wrapping him in a blanket that was resting on the back of it. Tim could feel the tremors in his body start to slow as Gibbs tenderly pulled the blanket around him. "If that guy in the basement weren't already dead, I'd kill him," Gibbs said.

"Maybe...don't...tell the...LEOs...that," Tim gasped. "Hurts...Boss..."

"Easy, kid, easy," Gibbs instructed. "Don't talk if it makes things worse."

Bishop ran into the room. "Upstairs is clear," she panted. "You found Tim?"

"Torres did. In the basement," Gibbs said.

Bishop came over. "How you feeling, Tim?"

"Sore," Tim said. His eyelids suddenly felt like lead, and he was struggling to keep them open.

"Sleep if you need to, kid. We'll make sure you're safe," Gibbs said.

And as Tim let himself drift off, he knew a truer statement had never been spoken.


End file.
